The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(16)
Author: Alice Clayton

“I bet she’d be proud of you right now. Look at everything you’ve accomplished at such a young age!” I said, scratching his scalp the way I knew he liked. He leaned into my hand, but was still quiet. We soaked up the fresh air and the sounds of the city.

“Grace, how come you never talk about your parents?” he asked, breaking me out of my spell.

“My what? My parents?”

“Yes, you never mention them. Come to think of it, I don’t think you’ve ever said a word about them. Where are they?” he asked, still leaning into my hand, which had stilled.

“My mom died when I was a freshman in college—boating accident. It happened fast. I didn’t even make it home from school before she was gone. She was only forty-one,” I answered, closing my eyes and remembering how she used to make me scrambled eggs and toast every morning, without fail. All these years and her breakfasts were still the first thing that came to mind when I thought about her. That and her perfume.

“Grace, I’m so sorry,” he said, clutching me closer.

“I’m sorry too—for you. What a pair we are.” I laughed hollowly.

“And your dad? How did he take it?”

“You’d have to ask him, if you can find him. I haven’t spoken to him since I was in third grade. He left my mom and me high and dry. Never looked back—no letters, no phone calls, nothing,” I said, my voice empty. My skin prickled a bit. I never talked about this stuff. It made me uncomfortable, and I didn’t do uncomfortable.

“He just left?”

“Yes, he just left. Can we talk about something else? My dad was a deadbeat. No need to discuss,” I said, just as the soccer ball came our way again. This time I rose and kicked it back, my foot connecting angrily and sailing it over the lot of them. A few of them cheered my kicking ability, and I curtsied. I sat down next to him on the bench again, and we continued to watch.

“Cute kids,” he said, watching them play.

“Yes, cute,” I replied, watching them as well.

“Do you want kids, Grace?” he asked, turning to look at me.

“What, right now? Today?” I teased, standing up and depositing myself on his lap. He made room for me, tucking me in with his arms around me and his chin on my shoulder.

“Obviously not today, Crazy. Although later on today I’ll be glad to demonstrate how babies are made.” He laughed, cuddling me to him. “But really, do you want kids someday?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean, I think if I wanted them, I’d have thought more seriously about it by now,” I said. “What about you? I mean, not now, but do you want kids someday?” I asked, shuffling around a bit so I was looking down at him.

“Hmm, I don’t think so either. I don’t particularly care for children—at least not in the sense that I want any of my own,” he said, kissing my fingertips, each one in turn, lavishing attention on my pinkies in particular.

“You might change your mind as you get older,” I said.

“Don’t you think you might change your mind?” he asked, still kissing my fingers.

“Eh, I don’t have all the years in front of me like you do. My choices are a little more finite. Maybe I will, but I doubt it,” I answered, sighing happily as he placed a kiss on my palm. I laughed a little, and he looked at me curiously.

“What’s funny, love?”

“It’s funny that you’re dating a woman in her thirties, and you managed to find the one who doesn’t seem to have a biological clock—at least not one that’s ticking,” I said, planting a kiss on top of his head and pulling him to his feet.

We began to walk back toward the Plaza to catch a cab.

“You really don’t want kids, Grace? I mean, you seem like you’d make a great mom…” He trailed off.

“Yeah, I think I would too. But that doesn’t mean I should have kids—does that make sense? There are plenty of women who have kids and do great with them, but that maybe didn’t really in their true heart of hearts want them. Not every woman is made to have a family. My friends feel like my family, and now there’s this Brit who I’m taking care of. He does take up a lot of my time.” I laughed, straightening his shirt and zipping his jacket up further against the cold.

“Hmm…tell me more about this Brit,” he said, wrapping his arm around my waist as we walked.

“He’s quite handsome and very sweet. A little on the g*y side, but then again, he is British,” I continued.

“Of course, of course,” he agreed.

“And I love him—quite a lot, actually,” I finished, leaning my head against his arm as we walked.

“Hmm…I see. He sounds fantastic, obviously. Does he love you as well?”

“He says he does, and I mean, really, how could he not?” I giggled, doing a little pirouette on the path in front of us.

He stopped to watch me, then caught my hand and pulled me back to him. “How could he not?” he confirmed, and kissed me.

We smooched for a moment, sweetly and softly, and then went to grab our cab. Neither of us heard the clicking of the camera.

Chapter 6

The rest of the weekend flew by, and it was Monday night before I knew it.

We’d spent the rest of Saturday afternoon in his hotel, passing more time in that blessed shower. You’d think we were part fish the way we splashed around. Saturday night we went to see a show. I had been saving Wicked to see with him. I knew he wasn’t so fond of musicals, but I thought this one would hold his interest.

True to form, I cried like a baby, and he seemed surprised at how affected I was. He enjoyed it, although he didn’t sob like I did when Elphaba sang “Defying Gravity.” Really no one did. It seemed I would continue to make an ass of myself whenever live theater was concerned. I enjoyed this show so much I actually forgot Jack was there, and I was surprised to find him next to me at the end when we all filed back into the lobby.

“You were lost in your own little world, Gracie. I watched you as much as I watched the show,” he said, holding my hand and helping me throw away all the crumpled tissues I’d shoved in my pockets and purse during the show.

Sunday morning was chilly and wonderful. We spent the day at MOMA and went to Mott Street in Little Italy for dinner. We sat family style with other diners at a lovely old restaurant, passing plates and plates of food and carafes of cheap red wine.